Seven Days of Hell
by It'sTimeToDance
Summary: It's that time of the month again, and Jump Street's not sure who's going to make it out alive. Pure nonsense, lots of womenly problems. Evil!Hormonal!Hoffs.


Doug Penhall rounded the corner with a quick, desperate spin of his feet, pushing aside a young officer in his path. A thin coating of sweat covered his face like a second skin. His tongue was dry in his mouth, and he thought he would vomit.

He spotted Tom Hanson, once he were in the squad room, sitting at his desk, glaring at a pile of documents sprawled on the table top. Penhall stopped himself by slamming his palms into the desk's edge, lowering his voice into something that could only be described as a strangled whisper, "Run, Hanson, _get out of here_."

He looked up at Penhall with a defined annoyance, his glare now having something among the living to be directed at, "What?"

"You gotta get out of here---we gotta _get out of here!_" he now raised his voice, spinning around and waving his arms in the air, "Everyone's gotta _get out of here!_"

Hanson leaned over on his desk, looking around at his fellow officers with irritance, "What are you going on about, Penhall? People're trying to---"

Penhall heard her heels against the tiled floors even from the distance, and his stomach twisted, "No time! _Run!_"

"What is this all about?" came Fuller, peering out of his office door, he and Ioki sharing an irked glance.

The clacking of the heels got closer. Not much longer now.

"Hoffs...she's..."

"For God's sake, _spit it out!_" Hanson barked.

Penhall threw his arms into the air, crying out the dreaded words;

_**"PMS!"**_

The room froze all in one, men pausing mid-action, mid-step. You could hear the frenzied beating of their hearts, the catch in their breath, and the dreaded clacking of the heels.

"EVERBODY RUN!!"

It was soon a race against the clock, every officer in the squad room gathering their possessions at a record pace, screaming at one another, some trampling those in their way. It was like a mad house.

"Oh, God, this can't be happening." Hanson gasped, fumbling for his car keys, his jacket, his gun.

"I can't deal with this right now...I just _can't_!" Ioki whimpered, dropping his case report to another's desk and rushing to the door, as Fuller locked his office.

It was too late.

She sat at the gateway like Satan himself, her head bowed in a a savage burtality that could only be seen in the most deranged criminals. She blocked every man's way to freedom with her shockingly slender frame, and her dark skin glowed with an unidentifiable hunger.

Fuller stepped in front of the crowd, his hands up in either a peacful or defensive movement, "Good morning, Judy." he said, carefully.

She grunted her response, stomping foreward towards her desk, bumping the shoulders of Hanson and Penhall in the process. They sat, rigid, in fear of the women.

Fuller breathed out as she plomped into her seat, waving his wrist at the surrounding men, nervously proclaiming, "Okay, nothing to see here, back to work."

The officers hesitantly settled back into a semi-normal work flow, anxietly glancing at Hoffs.

All would have been calm, if it weren't for Ioki.

He leaned in towards Hanson, who's desk was propped beside his, whispering so quietly he could scarcely hear it himself, "_Maybe we could get her some, like, Midol, or something?_"

_POW!_

He found himself pushed up against the wall, hs chair toppled over, dainty hands holding him up with a surprising strength.

"What was that?" she barked.

He shook his head, saying "Nothing, nothing."

"Didn't sound like _nothing_."

"Sorry, i'm sorry." he whimpered like a dying puppy, turning his head away from her womenly induced wrath.

"SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH BEFORE I SPOON YOUR EYES OUT WITH A RUSTY FORK, IOKI!" she shrieked, highlighting each word by smacking his head against the wall.

He nodded furiously. Hoffs spun her head towards Hanson, who had begun reaching for the phone.

"There a problem, Hanson?" she demanded, releasing Ioki to the floor in a heap.

He shook his head, dropping the phone back onto the reciever, "No, m'am."

She snarled, "That's what I thought."

She went to her desk, men in her path pressing themselves against the wall.

To her, it was 35 years of monthly inconveincence.

To them, it was 35 years of living hell.

7 more days.

**A/N I don't know what this was. My friends on a PMS induced rampage at the moment, so I thought I'd vent these fears in the form of Judy Hoffs.**

**By the way, quotes from her. She's not exceptionally pleasent this time of the month....**


End file.
